


For the Rest of My Days (I Want You By My Side)

by AceQueenKing



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, F/F, Language of Flowers, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 10:38:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8159159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: Hawke intends to propose to Merrill the Dalish way, but its trickier than she expects.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writingfromthevoid (luciferxrising)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciferxrising/gifts).



1.

The proposal was, Marian Hawke thought, hard enough. She wasn't sure she was going to be able to live through a dalish ceremony, even if Merrill did say yes.

It had taken her some time to get up the courage to propose to Merrill. Once that was decided, there were several problems.

The largest being that Merrill was _Dalish_ and Marian was going to respect that.

The first – and hardest – thing she had to do to learn the language. It is expected, customary even, for a Dalish couple to recite their words in the joining ceremony in elvish. This, Marian thought, was made considerably simpler by the fact that they _were elves_ and had spoken the dalish tongue since childhood.

Which, judging from Orana's long face, she was beginning to suspect was necessary. Orana had been kind enough to teach her the words, but judging from her face while they were practicing just the proposal, well…

They were a long way off from fluency.

“No, no, Ms. Hawke,” Orana said, shaking her head. “ _Asha_ , not _Assa._ ”

“Asha—Asha-” She tried to think of the next word, but drew only blanks. “Lath?”  
  
“ _Himlin_ , my lady.” Orana said. She grabbed Marian's hand, not unkindly, and squeezed it reassuringly. “Do not worry, my lady. It is a slippery tongue that takes practice to learn.”

“How long did it take you?” Hawke asked, battling every urge to sink her hands into her arms.  
  
“I do not know, mistress,” Orana said, a half-smile on her face. “I was but a wee bairn on my father's knee. He had been one of the people, before he met my mother. He taught it to me, should I wish to return to the dales.”  
  
“That was a good plan,” Hawke said. She thought of her own lessons with Bethany and her father; Bethany's face pinched in concentration, attempting to copy her older sister as a flame danced upon Marian's palm. Marian sat up straight. If she could learn to master flames, she could master words. “Let's go again.”  
  
“ _Asha,_ ” Orana says. Hawke watches Orana's mouth as her lips move, then repeats, clumsily.

“ _Asha.”  
  
“Yes!”_ Orana clapped. “Good! Now: _Himiln_.”

“Him-in.”

“ _Him-llllin.”_

“ _Him-lin.”_ Hawke smiled. “ _Himlin!”  
  
_ “Yes!” Orana clapped, a dazzling grin on her face. She plucked one of the flowers they'd had on the table – still left over from Merrill's return from Sunderland last night – and twirled it between her fingers. “My wife. _Asha'Himlin_.”

She repeated the words, again and again: _Asha'Himlin. Asha'Himlin. Asha'Himlin._ _My Wife. Asha'Himlin._ “Now how do I ask her to become my _Asha'Himlin_...”  
  
“Ah, that is a bit easier. _Ir -_ “

The door opened, and both her and Orana turned. Merrill came into the room, her brown hair loose, spilling over her shoulders now. She looked tired, still, her eyes puffy – but Marian had never seen a more beautiful sight. She stood up immediately and pressed a kiss to Merrill's cheek.

“Morning, Sunshine,” she whispered, only to be rewarded by another quick peck from Merrill.  
  
“Good morning.” She fetched a kettle, reaching for a bit of tea and dabbing it into a cup. She held up another cup with an eyebrow raised to Hawke, who shook her head.

“What are you two doing there?” Merrill asked, yawning. “You're both up so early. Did you sleep okay?”  
  
“Flowers, mistress,” Orana blurted out, a bad cover story but an immediate one. “Lady Hawke was just helping me put the flowers into a vase.”

Orana frantically grabbed one of the spare glass jars behind her, throwing a few flowers into them. “You see, miss? We think they'll smell nice. Hopefully help Ser Cucumber,” – She pointed toward their loyal Mabari, snoring daintily on his cushion in the corner – “have a bit of a nicer smelling area.”

“Hawke? Arranging flowers?” Merrill wrinkled her nose. “That's not like you, not at all. Except the dog part. He is a bit foul smelling, ever since he ate all the linen off of Mrs. Talvaris' line.”  
  
Hawke plucked one of the drying flowers from the table, placing it in Merrill's hair. “Just trying not to offend your delicate nose.”

“Kind of you, Hawke.” Merrill said, pressing another quick kiss to her cheek. The kettle rang out it's song – loud and shrill – and Merrill grabbed her cuppa. “I'll leave you ladies to it, then. Let me know how it works.”  
  
“Will do,” Marian said, with a slightly mocking salute. “We'll call you for breakfast, alright? I've got some great veggies we can roast. Your favorite.”  
  
“Yum,” Merrill said. “But no carrots, please. I don't like carrots. Too orange.”  
  
“No carrots, Mistress.” Orana said, then – quieter – in a whisper even she could barely hear: “Again, my lady?”  
  
She nodded an affirmative as Merrill scouted out the door.

 _Asha'Himlin_ , she thought, her brow burrowing as she carefully selected potatoes and handed them to Orana for breakfast. _Asha'Himlin. Merrill is my wife. Merrill...something...Asha'Himlin.”_

“ _Asha'Himlin,”_ she whispered.

“You're getting the hang of it, mistress!” Orana said, her fingers making quick work of the skin of the vegetable.

Marian handed her another, and practiced again.

_2._

Marian had hoped the second thing she needed to do – find a dowry – would be easier than the first.

But this, too, was difficult.

Unlike the traditional human or dwarven dowry, elven dowries were conspicuously practical in nature. There was no silver, no gold; no statues, no works of art. Elven dowries were simple, yet complicated things: meat, cheese, weapons, fabric, halla.

Halla were not so easy to find in Kirkwall. Cheese would spoil, meat would spoil, but weapons – weapons were forever.

It was easy to find a design – a few words with Varric, and a traditional elven bow design was in her hands. The harder part was actually making it. Tradition dictated elvish weapons be carved by a loved one when they were dowry gifts – and Hawke was no smith.

Still, a few words with a few choice friends from her mercenary days, and Hawke was able to find a smith who was willing to loan her his forge for a few nights. Harder to find was the material – until she'd gotten a rather good break from Aveline.

“I am never helping you again,” Aveline sighed, as they tugged a huge piece of driftwood that had washed up on the shoreline near the mountain. It was pure ironbark, the good stuff. It was the single best material to carve an elven staff from, elegant and potent at keeping essences of the elements.

And it weighed a metric ton.

“Oh come on!” Marian yelled. She would have pointed accusingly, but that would have meant dropping the ironbark, and maker, she wasn't going to pick this thing up again. “I helped you with Donnic. You _owe_ me.”  
  
“I think I did alright with Donnic.” Aveline coughed, though Marian wasn't sure if that was from embarrassment or the sheer size of the bark compressing her lungs.

Probably both.

“Aveline. You made me talk to him in a bar while you paced the perimeter. _All night.”_

“ _Fine.”_ Aveline sighed, straightening her shoulders. “Then let's move quickly. And Hawke?”  
  
“Yes?” She grunted. Her shoulders were beyond feeling pain, and she grit her teeth as she focused on her goal. _I_ _r Lath Asha'Himli,_ _Merrill_. _Ir Lath Asha'Himlin. Be my wife, Merrill. Be my wife.  
__  
“_ This debt is _repayed.”_

She didn't bother to argue.

Her arms hurt for a week after they'd managed to successfully deliver it, and another week as she lathed and sweated and bent and sanded and ground her staff. They ached even worse after she'd managed to get some lightning essence into a ball and affixed it to it; the shocks of it bit her fingers, and left them singed.

But in the end, the staff was made, and she packed it in their carriage, then called Merrill.

“I think we should go on vacation,” she said, running a hand down Merrill's face.  
  
“Okay,” said Merrill, nodding. She always liked to travel. “Where to?”  
  
3.

Merrill sighed happily as she leaned back on the _thener’an_. She was glad she'd brought the heavy elven blanket to Sundermount; the night was cold, and Merrill liked to be warm.

Marian watched as Merrill wiggled her toes, armed stretched behind her head.

"I've missed this," she said. Marian felt a bit of guilt as she watched Merrill smile up at the stars. She had taken Merrill away from her people, her culture. She had thought of how Hightown was a step up form the Alienage—but now, staring at Merrill as she stretched languorously under the stars, she knew why Merrill had never quite been able to get rid of her alienage apartment despite the leaky roof.

"It's beautiful, Merrill.” She said, turning to watch the moon. It was bright in the sky, a gentle blue light that seemed to light up all of Thedas just enough for her to see Merrill. Her hand strayed to her pocket, where the cheat sheet she'd made with the bits of elvish that Orana had helped her learn was. She was keenly aware of the parchment as she shifted to look toward Merrill.

"You alright?" Merrill blinked, reaching a hand up toward her. She had little difficulty reading Marian's emotions, even in the darkness. She pressed a hand over her forehead. “Your arm still troubling you from...”  
  
“It's fine.” She shook her head. “Don't look at me; look at the view. We came all this way.”  
  
“I can look at both.” Merrill said, frowning a bit. “You've been acting weird all night, Hawke.”  
  
“I'm just..tense.” She said, swallowing. “It's a bit unusual for me. Not used to sleeping on one of these.” She smiled, but knew it looked a bit unsteady. She swallowed, her nerves heavy in her throat, and prayed Merill wouldn't notice.

“The moon won't eat you,” Merrill said, grinning at her in the usually adorable fashion. “I'll make sure of it.”  
  
She smiled before laying back, staring up at the stars. Maker, but there were a lot of them. She wondered if, on another world, there was another couple staring back at them, and if perhaps one of those two women, eons away, was debating how to propose to her girlfriend as well.

She was distracted from her musing on alien planets by Merrill, who moved up and started untying the bindings on the edge of her thener’an.

“What's the matter, Merrill?” She said, frowning. The dalish version of bedding was complex, a complicated and well-sewn web of furs and leather which surrounded the person in a cocoon-like comfort. The sides were tied with several knots to preserve warmth.

“Sometimes we like to tie the blankets together.” Merrill said, a soft smirk on her face. “For...warmth.”

“So this is a dalish tradition is it?” She raised an eyebrow as Merrill giggled before turning back to her.

“In a matter of speaking, yes.”

“Ah, I see.” She helped Merrill, making quick work of the knots at her side. Their hands met for a moment, brushed up against one another. Merrill looked at her, her cheeks pink.

Hawke leaned forward, kissing her softly.

“What was that for?”  
  
“Because I love you,” she said, and knew her own cheeks were quickly turning pink.

“I love you, too,” Merrill said, squeezing her hands together for a moment before tying their _thener’an_ together, forming one larger blanket.

“There,” Merrill said, before softly curling up next to her. She wrapped her arms around Merrill, who settled in her arms and looked up at her.

“Is this how you’d normally sleep in the aravels?” Marian asked, as Merrill's soft ears brushed against her cheek. She wondered, sometimes, about Merrill's life before they had met – so close to her in Ferelden, yet so far away. The Dalish had never really come to Lothering, not often and, when they did, they rarely stayed. She wondered, fleetingly, if she had seen Merrill as a child.

“In the _thener’an_ , aye.” Merill blushed harder, her cheeks a raging crimson. “But not with them put together. That's more of a – that's not a usual thing.”  
  
“Oh?” Marian brushed her hand through Merrill's long, brown hair, and debated how to ask the question that she'd been spending so long fussing over. What would be better – to spring the question now? Or perhaps in the morning, over the morning-meal? She'd provide a quality meal, perhaps catch Merrill a few fish to symbolize her ability to provide. “Is that like...a couple thing?”  
  
“Sometimes.” Merrill was fully flushed, her cheeks so warm Marian could feel the embarrassment coursing through her. “Or in winter, sometimes, they'd tie all the _thener’an_ in the _aravel_ together and we'd huddle together for warmth. It was necessary, when we hit winter. _Aravels_ weren't meant for snow.”

“I'm sorry,” she said, thoughtfully stroking Merrill's hair. The response was mostly automatic, her concerns mostly focused on the words stuck in her throat. Mentally, she practiced the words she'd been mouthing whenever Merrill was out of the room for the last month: _Asha'Him_ _lin_. _My wife_ _. Become my wife. Ir Lath Asha'Himlin._

“I miss it, though.” Merrill said, and Marian felt the same tug of guilt she'd felt at the sight of Merrill's smile took took inside her belly, burrowing deep down and sending tendrils of anxiety crashing against Marian's nerves. “I've lived in the same place for...”

Merrill counted on her fingers. Marian watched each one, Merrill's fingers long and lithe. “Six years now. It's a long time to be in one place.”

“We could go wandering, if you like,” Hawke said, her words careful. “Has to be some clan that accepts a human and an elf, yeah?”  
  
“No, they don't.” Merrill's hand patted her belly as if to comfort her, but the words hit hard. “My home is here. The clans do not matter. Even if I miss them sometimes I – I wouldn't trade this in, Hawke.”

She looked deep into Merrill's eyes, soft green and full of love. She stroked Marian's cheek lovingly, her free hand curled possessively across Marian's waist. “You're my home, Hawke.”

“Merrill,” she whispered softly. “I have something to ask you.”  
  
“Hm?” Merrill sounded sleepy, and Hawke took a deep breath.

“Merrill.” She cleared her throat. “Ir- Ir lath--”  
  
“Are – are you speaking elvish to me?” Merrill whispered. She shifted upwards, and Hawke's eyes followed her.

“Yes. Attempting to, anyway.” She licked her lips. “Merrill, I – _I_ _r Lath Asha'Himlin_.”

“Are...are you asking...?” Merrill's eyes were huge and bright. Hawke stood up and strolled over to the caraven, carefully picking up the staff she'd made from under the spare tire she hid it under.

“I brought – “She cleared her throat, but her heart remained stuck there. “It's homemade and I know it's not quite Dalish made and it's not quite Mythal's staff, but it's iron bark and – “  
  
“Ah.” Merrill strode forward, placing her hand upon Marian's lips. “It's perfect, _Asha'Himlin_.”

“Asha-”  
  
“Yes, Marian.” Merrill picked up the staff before wrapping Hawke up into her arms, warm and soft. She kissed her, and Marian's heart finally sunk back down into her chest, where a feeling of warmth flowed through her veins. She loved this woman, her wife, her _Asha'Himlin_ ; they would be married, and they would live out their days together, and she could think of no better fate.

Of course, she would still have to learn Dalish for the ceremony.

But with Merrill at her side, that didn't seem so bad.


End file.
